i'll be the dawn on your worst night
by quinnking
Summary: "He looks like a lot of fun, Al, I'm sure you'll have a great time," he says sarcastically. "Jealousy is an ugly shade on you, Forsythe." (alice/fp, high school)


He should be trying to take this shot, he's already leaning over the pool table, but he can't stop looking at her. She's leaning back against her pool cue, waiting for her turn.

"I can feel you staring, you know," she says, coolly.

 _Busted._

"Rumor has it that you're going out with Hal Cooper," he replies, equally as icy.

She looks at him, blue eyes filling with acknowledgement.

"He asked. I said yes. You should know how that works."

He grits his teeth as he takes the shot. He misses, sinks the white ball instead.

She chuckles, giving him that infuriating smile he wishes he could kiss away.

Naturally, though, Alice wins the game. She always does.

"Maybe next time you should keep your eyes on the table and not on me." She laughs heartily this time, sifting through the money she'd just won from him. She puts it in her bra and gives him a smirk. "Not that I'll need this tonight, I don't think."

She's trying to bait him. He refuses to take it.

"He looks like a lot of fun, Al, I'm sure you'll have a great time," he says sarcastically.

"Jealousy is an ugly shade on you, Forsythe."

He tries not to appear affected, to look as surprised as he feels because he _knows_ Alice speaks her mind and lacks subtlety.

"Spoken like a true narcissist." He pushes his hands into his pockets, leans against the wall and watches her.

She just looks at him, even as she slithers around the pool table and into his personal space. She's close enough that he can smell her, a tangy citrus scent that'll stick to him all night long. She lets her pool cue lay against the wall behind him.

"See you later, _F.P._ ," she says snarkily, emphasizing his nickname. She turns to walk away, heading toward the exit of the bar.

"Have fun tonight, _Ali Cat_ ," he says back, not missing the way her shoulders go rigid for a split second. She pulls her jacket tighter around herself and she walks out without looking back.

* * *

He wants to get wasted. He's been thinking about her all night, and more importantly (and regrettably), her with _him_.

He grabs the cheap bottle of whiskey he keeps hidden under his bed and takes a long swig and almost spits it up when he hears a tap on the window.

When he moves the curtain he's surprised to see Alice's face. Making quick work of the window, he cracks it open.

"What are y-"

She cuts him off. "Meet me on the roof."

And then she's gone, presumably to climb up, and he sighs.

He takes another chug of the whiskey and grabs a sweater, pulling it on and walking through the trailer.

It takes only a bit of effort to climb up on the roof, where Alice already has a blanket laid out under her, a small spot reserved for him.

"I'm guessing the date didn't go well?"

She shrugs and grabs the whiskey from him, taking a long gulp. "It went fine. He's a nice boy," she says.

"Then what went wrong?"

She takes another chug and he can tell it burns her throat when it goes down because she makes a face.

"He's boring," she admits.

He almost laughs. Almost. Has to bite on his bottom lip and turn away so he doesn't.

"He likes me, though." She moves closer to him, slightly, and he notices. He's hyperaware of how close they are on this blanket. He's also extremely aware of the fact that she's wearing Hal's Letterman jacket.

"Does he?"

She nods, playing with the cap of the whiskey bottle. "I think I could like him, too."

The _could_ is what sticks out to F.P. Because why doesn't she already? What's holding her back? He's not dumb enough to think that he's a reason but he's not smart enough to not let a bit of hope seep through.

"Then what's the problem?"

"He's… A Cooper," she says, as if that's the only answer worth saying. He's not going to pretend to even understand what goes through this girls head. "He doesn't know anything about me."

"He doesn't know you're a serpent."

She shakes her head, laughs a tiny bit. "He doesn't even know I'm from the Southside."

F.P. looks at her with disbelief. "He doesn't know you're from the Southside?"

"He sees the cheerleading uniform, that's all," she mutters. "That's all they ever see."

"That's not true."

She looks at him then, daring him to say something contrary. When he doesn't, when it feels too intense of a staring contest, he looks away.

"People like Hal and Hermione and Penelope… they don't like people like us."

"Do you really think Hal will care?" he asks, despite himself.

Another humourless laugh. "How could he not? It's Riverdale, the only thing that matters is reputation. All I have is a cheerleaders uniform, a good GPA and I'm friends with Mary."

"You're more than that," F.P. argues. "You're a bit of a bitch but you're witty and you can strike up them smart conversations rich people like to have." She laughs, a real one this time, and he feels like he achieved something. "You're pretty, too. Hermione and Penelope can't touch you there."

"You're drunk," she says matter-of-factly. "You're not going to like that you said that to me tomorrow when you remember."

"Said what?" he jokes, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig.

After a couple minutes of companionable silence, she says, "I want to get out of here."

"Riverdale?"

"The Southside."

F.P. nods numbly.

"I want to go to a good college, I want to be a journalist. I won't be able to do that…"

"Slumming here?"

He can feel her looking at him, big eyes wide.

 _You and I could be King and Queen,_ he almost says, but doesn't. Because she _is_ the queen of the Southside, but she wants to be more than that.

"Hal's your ticket," he says after a couple of moments, warring with himself on what to say.

"I could like him one day. Maybe even love him."

He nods again, takes another swig. They sit in silence again and then he feels her head rest on his shoulder, her body pressing into his side. He looks down at her for a moment, and she's not looking up at him but at the sky, eyes bright with the reflection.

He trains his eyes on the stars, on the moon, on anything but her.

But he also lets himself think, for a moment, that he's not sure he can go without this. He's not sure he should even _let_ himself think that. He's not even sure that this will stop when she dates Hal.

"Al-"

"Shut up, Forsythe."


End file.
